Psychedelic Daydream

As the colors spin and melt in the sky,
There I lie, forgetting about the world, law, and sense,
But thinking rather of neon blue grass and purple liquid trees,
Orbiting around a hole of random nothingness controlled by ceramic cows,
In the borderlines of a continent made of paint thinner and orange peels,
The government ruled by talking Christmas ornaments,
With a military of bendy straws and cacti making up the infantry,
Using rifles made of liquid soap and bandages.

Soon after, I see a rabbit, a cute looking rabbit,
I look deeper into its eyes and see a universe made of chocolate and ivory,
Swirling to create a curvaceous bubble filled with decorative eggs and silverware,
I pop it with a lemon, and it explodes into a circus,
In the circus are giraffes with road sign legs and clowns with razor-sharp tentacles,
One of the tentacles slices a man’s head open and, right before my eyes,
A road starts emerging from his cranium unrolling for miles,
It stops and hits a mountain of chairs, which tumble down and fall back into my head.

I start to smile, so hard that my mouth melts off and turns into mercury,
It melts through the ground and into a hole from which a ray of tangerine light emerges,
I look into the hole and see the sun wrapped in cellophane, with a rubber band ring,
It turns blue, and I squeeze through the hole and tear past the cellophane,
Before I know it I’m in a giant watery orb, which I absorb through my head,
I start to fall, and I watch the colors fly past me,
I land on an oversized pillow, which dissolves beneath me,
There I am again, looking at the sky, back from my trip, back to routine.